


colour you in

by gaysubtexts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, i wanted to write shotgunning and this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysubtexts/pseuds/gaysubtexts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn teaches liam to smoke a blunt at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	colour you in

(thursday)

liam has an itch.

usually it was an unkempt bedroom or irresponsible doses of alcohol or not taking out the trash on time that made him uneasy. the smell of bacon and keys not left on the proper hook or unclean dishes in the sink. the sound of nails on a chalkboard or turning in homework late or being unpunctual or not having enough layers on to protect him from the cold wind outside. these were the things that made it hard for him to fall asleep in the dead of the night, poked at him and left him tired and achy. it wasn’t extreme enough to be considered obsessive compulsive, but it was close.

each day is a routine. the clock strikes 6:45, his alarm buzzes once, twice, perhaps three times if he’s that exhausted, and the day starts. a cup of coffee, a cream cheese bagel, a quick look at the morning news, and he’s off for college.

the halls buzz with the talk of weekend plans, curse words, how parents are constantly getting in the way of a good time and the like. he doesn’t feel like these kids, doesn’t feel that they’re the same. they hang out and party and discuss their futures while he plans his future, storms up strategies, wonders if he should skip ahead in macbeth.

if there’s something you should know about liam payne, it’s this: he’s not one to get attached to materialistic things, he doesn’t break rules, and he does not, by any means, give in to peer pressure.

and it’s not that he’s unlikable or that he’s a complete outcast or that he doesn’t have any friends—niall and louis are plenty to deal with for a lifetime, and they’re part of the “in-crowd,” so to speak. he’s a funny guy, his jokes perhaps a bit corny, but his charming personality and adorable smile make up for it, he’s been told. sure, girls aren’t lining up for him at every stop, but here and there they’ll flash a bright smile at him, bat their eyelashes, whisper a filthy slur to get him in bed.

but he’s just not interested. and he can’t explain why he isn’t because, hell, these girls are pretty and smell so good and it wouldn’t be difficult for him to get laid. but he just can’t bring himself to do that to someone—to anyone.

and he doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s lonely. he’s lonely and doesn’t want to be in this position and wished he knew a lifestyle that differed from taking on the “big brother” role even though he was the youngest of his siblings. he doesn’t have to—his family is good enough—but he was born with the role of responsibility, grew up with it. your personality is the last thing you’re able to change, even if it’s the first thing you want to be different.

he wants to change. he doesn’t want to colour inside the lines and be as readable as an open book and do things with meaning that end up sounding like poetry when read out loud. he just wants to get fucked.

liam has an itch, and it’s a bit like this:

zayn malik is a boy. liam sees him sometimes, lazily roaming the halls of college, nodding as someone calls out his name in a greeting, smirking at a casual comment made by a girl in passing. liam had never seen him without a pack of cigarettes poking out of his jacket pocket.

he likes to watch zayn sometimes, not in a creepy distant kind of way, because he’s sure other people are doing it too, but he can’t help but feel in awe of zayn’s beauty. it’s overwhelming to him, how someone could be so fucking attractive and not even have to try. the tan skin, the smug grin, the careless movements. and liam doesn’t know what he’s feeling but the stirring in his pants when thinking too aggressively about zayn tells him otherwise.

maybe liam just has a kink for black leather jackets and dark slicked hair and white teeth that gleam, but maybe he doesn’t.

(friday)

when he wakes up and his alarm clock buzzes at 6:45, he ignores it. and when it buzzes at 6:50 he ignores it. and when it buzzes a last time at 6:55, he ignores it as well. his heart pounds at the constant thoughts picking at his brain, asking him why he’s ignoring the routine, ignoring the consistency of it that puts his life in a box on an empty shelf in the middle of nowhere.

liam is lost, and he wants to be found.

///

there’s a party a few doors down, the bass blaring and reverberating ten streets down, liam’s sure; it reassures every house in the neighborhood that a few obnoxious college kids are having their way tonight, red cups and vodka and pretty girls included.

and this is his chance to let loose, to open up. and he knows if he fucks this up, his chance at opening up will be good as over.

the blaring of the music is overwhelming as he steps through the wide front doors—passing a couple making out on the lawn and another girl puking in the bushes as he passes—but it doesn’t discourage him. his palms are sweaty but he ignores it. how hard could fitting in be, really?

people. tons of them. crowded around one another, pushed up against each other, dancing to the rhythm of the surrounding sounds that fill the air. it isn’t boy against girl or girl against girl or boy against boy, but body against body as each one finds its own comfort zone and sways to the music.

it smells of sweat and excitement. liam takes in his surroundings, grins. this is exactly what he was looking for.

now what?

he obviously hadn’t put too much thought into what he was going to do once he actually got there. he just figured the answer would come to him.

he makes his way through the crowd, and as he does, limb after limb grabs onto him, begs him to join in on a dance, to bump and grind and do whatever other move you pull at college parties, but he disentangles himself and moves further into the crowd.

he makes his way into the kitchen, the counters granite and expensive, two microwaves lining the walls as well as two ovens. he silently pities the parents of whomever house this belongs to.

“liam!” and without warning louis tackles him, attaching himself to liam’s back asking for a piggyback ride.

“should’ve known you’d be here, you alcoholic waste,” liam shouts, trying to get his voice to sound itself over the music.

“that’s me,” says louis, and he beams with excitement and blatant drunkenness, the smile he’s wearing not even a little faded. “surprised to see you here though, i’ll admit. not every day liam payne steps out of his comfort zone, is it?” and the last two words come out as a giggle rather than real speech.

“you’re nearly pissed, you know that?” says liam.

“aw yeah mate, i’m well aware. niall couldn’t make it, fortunately for the guests. five minutes here and the snack bar would’ve been empty.” his words slur towards the end a bit.

louis is just about to say something when a boy with a shocking amount of curly hair taps his shoulder asking for a picture.

“sure thing, mate,” louis says and follows the other boy to a secluded corner, looking small and fragile next to him. liam watches as louis points his index finger upward just as the flash goes off, the boy with the curls smiling incessantly before, during, and after the snapshot.

typical.

liam makes his way back into the crowd, confused as to what to do next. he’s not in any state to dance (you have to be at least half wasted to have the courage to strut awful moves in front of a crowd of people) and he isn’t about to consume alcohol with one kidney supporting his health.

the vibrations from the stereo set off a pounding in his head, an itch he can’t scratch. he reaches for his forehead, presses fingers against his temples to relieve the pain, but the hammering continues even more fiercely than it did before. he groans in agony, asks himself why he thought any of this was a good idea.

seriously—what the fuck was he doing here.

he considers giving up, turning around and walking straight out the door he entered from, but quickly comes to the conclusion that that’s a cop out and talks himself out of it. he wants to seek refuge in a place of temporary peace. he knows this is a stupid ass thing to wish for, considering his surroundings, but he’s hopeful nonetheless. he has two options: go straight up the stairs at the entrance of the house or head a little bit further down the hall where two doors reside at either side. he considers the rooms upstairs, most of them with the doors closed, and continues walking down the hall.

he reaches the door on the left, lightly jiggles the knob to find that it’s locked. probably a bathroom or something. he turns to the one on the right and pleasantly notices it’s already slightly ajar. he peers in and the darkness of it confuses him. he blindly searches for a light switch, and once he flips it, realizes there are stairs that lead to a basement. he takes four steps down and waits to hear for any signs of bass or vibration, and when there aren’t any, he shuts the door behind him and continues all the way down.

the walls must be sound proof, because from down here he can barely hear anything. no obnoxious waves of cheap lyrics or stiletto heels scraping against hardwood flooring or screams of malicious chants against authority. he’s not sure why he came.

but actually, he is.

and he knows it was stupid to wish to see the boy here and to believe that maybe something could happen or that maybe he’d see him clearer than other people did.

he rubs his forehead, the pounding still fierce inside his skull, beating with every drawn breath that escapes his lips. migraines had to be a sickness created by the very devil himself.

he furthers himself down the staircase. the main room is an okay size, adequate, but there’s nowhere for him to sit. there are a couple doors lining the walls though. he makes his way forward, and once he finds the room is empty, huffs a sigh of relief and makes his way to a dusty looking couch at the far end. he sits gratefully, leans his head against it, and closes his eyes. it’s a wonder to him how he’s been at this party for a whole fifteen minutes and hasn’t passed out. he smirks to himself thinking about how stupid it was of him to come here, seeing as he hasn’t done anything illegal yet.

“you comfortable?”

the sound of an unfamiliar voice startles him. his eyes jerk open and he lifts his head urgently.

out of the darkness of the corner, zayn steps forward, his eyes questioning. he’s wearing his black leather jacket (big surprise there) and he smells of tobacco and strong alcohol. there’s something in his hand but he’s too far away for liam to make out what it is.

panic sets in.

 

“uh—i—sorry,” liam stutters, his heart pounding in his chest. “i didn’t realize anyone else was here. i’ll just—“ and he gets up to make his way out the door.

“hey,” zayn says, “it’s all right.” a small smirks plays at his lips and this makes liam stop in his tracks because did he just say what i think he did and the way zayn’s mouth is curled couldn’t look more attractive. “you can stay.”

“er, you’re sure?” liam isn’t sure what part of his brain convinced him that it would be okay to be in a room alone with zayn malik but at this very moment he doesn’t care.

zayn eyes the couch, nods his head towards it. “go on. i’ll join you.”

liam swallows hard, nods, and sits back down, his hands curled together in a tight fist. he isn’t sure what he’s doing or what he plans on doing or what any of this is but he can’t deny he likes the guessing.

zayn makes his way over to the table in front of the couch. he takes a couple things out of his jacket pocket which liam doesn’t recognize, and sits down next to him.

“now,” says zayn, straightening up the foreign objects, organizing them. he holds up what looks like a rounded stick. “can you tell me what this is?”

“uh,” liam’s words shake as he tries to make an educated guess, “a cigar?”

zayn smiles without showing teeth, his eyes creasing softly at the gesture. “very good.” liam can’t help but notice how perfectly his hair is slicked into place, not a single strand touching his forehead.

“all right,” zayn says, “and what about this?” he holds up a circular wooden object, one liam’s never seen before.

“erm, a yoyo?”

at this, zayn bursts with laughter, the sound of it echoing throughout the hollow room. he leans forward, catches his breath. “hardly. no, this, my friend, is a grinder.”

“a grinder? for…”

“the weed, of course.”

comprehension masks liam’s face, his eyebrows smoothed out in understanding. “right,” he says, “marijuana.”

zayn seems to ignore liam’s tone, because before liam can say anything else, zayn is cutting the cigar open, tip to tip, using his thumb to slide the contents out. he clears the wrap completely and brings it to his lips.

the way his tongue traces over the blunt wrap has liam staring. it swivels across the edge of it back and forth, making sure none of it goes untouched. zayn swallows to recollect saliva.

“i’m gonna take a guess here and say you’ve never done this before?” zayn asks, and when liam looks up at him he expects to see traces of humor in his eyes, but is surprised to find that they actually look somewhat uninterested.

or no, not uninterested. uncaring.

“i’m gonna take a guess and say that wasn’t too difficult to figure out.” he’s shy, there’s no denying it. he licks his lips, still a bit nervous, and tucks his hands in between his knees.

zayn huffs out a light chuckle, focuses on the task at hand. “that’s all right. gotta start somewhere, right?”

the uneasiness on liam’s face must be clear to spot because in seconds zayn is countering his own words. “i mean, not that you have to or anything. your choice.”

liam nods slowly, leans closer to the table. “i think… i think i want to.”

zayn lifts an eyebrow. “you think?”

“i know.” this time liam’s eyes meet zayn’s confidently, hold his gaze until zayn breaks it, concentrating again at the items on the table.

“good. you can help me then.”

“oh. well i’m not sure i’d be any good at it, seeing as i’ve never done it before and all.”

“it’s not that hard,” zayn assures, “plus, i’ll be watching you. no way you’ll make a mistake under my scrutinizing hand.” liam looks up at him once more but zayn’s still focused on the blunt paper in front of him. he picks it up, holds it out. “lick it.”

liam’s brows furrow. “didn’t you just do that?”

“yeah, that was to get rid of the tobacco. i need you to lick the wrap now so we can fill it with pot and seal it.”

liam mutters a “right” and takes the paper from zayn, their fingers brushing softly as they do so. liam’s hands shake a bit.

“don’t worry,” zayn says, perhaps sensing liam’s anxiety. “it’s almost impossible to screw up licking a piece of paper.” and liam wants to kiss him for being so kind and reassuring. he holds it to his mouth, sticks his tongue out, and rolls it across the edges, covering it with his saliva. he can’t help but notice zayn watch him out of the corner of his eye, and for a second he thinks his peripheral vision is failing him.

but he’s not stupid. it daunts on him that just minutes ago, zayn’s tongue was here, licking this very spot. he imagines his breath, hot and sticky, the way his tongue would feel against his own.

his heartbeat doesn’t slow.

he licks it over once more and holds it out as zayn takes it. “not bad,” zayn comments, his mouth forming a semi-pout; a look that could kill angels. he digs into the pocket of his leather jacket and out comes an infamous amount of weed stored in a ziploc bag. he takes out an ample amount and puts it in the grinder. it only takes about twenty seconds until that’s finished and he begins putting the ground up weed onto the blunt wrap.

“now,” zayn says, “the most important thing you’ve gotta know about making a blunt is to never, ever put in less than needed. god forbid that happens, you’d not only have a bunch of pot wasted, but also, the blunt will collapse in on itself while you’re getting high. and no one wants that, do they?”

“i suppose not,” liam says, and he watches with fascination as zayn’s delicate fingers pick at the leaves, choosing some and abandoning others as they make their way onto the paper.

“rule number two,” zayn directs, “be very, very careful when rolling it. it’s an easy thing to do, it really is, but first and even second timers tend to either be too rough or too gentle with it, and in the end they’ve ruined a perfectly good blunt.” he tucks the shorter side of the wrap around the weed and continues rolling under it’s formed a perfect cylinder all the way around. “also, you don’t want to pinch the ends shut, obviously, or else you can’t smoke it.” his index fingers poke and prod the ends, and he looks at liam to make sure he’s paying attention. he squeezes liam’s arm close to the shoulder, “hey, you listening?” and the physical contact sends a shiver down liam’s spine. he is listening, of course, but it’s hard to concentrate when such a pretty boy is teaching you something you don’t know.

“last step, or almost last anyway, is more licking. you wanna take over for this one?” and when liam shakes his head politely, zayn shrugs and does the deed himself, his tongue once again exploring the ends of the roll. he then uses his fingers to press down on it carefully, sealing everything in place.

“and last official step,” zayn says with a small smile, “baking it.” he reaches in his pocket looking for something and frowns when he doesn’t find it there. “where did i put the—“

but before he can finish liam spots the lighter on his end of the table and brings it to zayn’s hand. “here.”

zayn smiles. “why don’t you do it? i’ve done most of the work. you owe me that much.”

liam lights it cautiously, careful not to burn the house down. zayn holds the blunt in front of him, and with a nod of his head, encourages him to run the flame over it. they watch in silence as the colour of it darkens, tiny sparks emanating at the ends.

“light the tip, yeah?” and liam does as instructed as zayn spins and rotates it, making sure every inch gets baked. liam puts out the flame as zayn brings it to his lips, takes a long, deep drag. just as he’s about to exhale, he closes his eyes as if tired, and the smoke exits his lungs, forming puffy clouds in the atmosphere.

liam can’t help but find it strange; the two of them alone in a stranger’s basement, making blunts and getting high. but he doesn’t care because zayn looks so captivating and he can’t believe any of this is real; liam is at a loss for words.

after zayn’s second exhale, he opens his eyes and holds the cigar out in front of him. only hesitating for a moment, liam takes it from him, licks his lips. he holds it in front of his mouth, slowly circling his mouth around it, and inhales.

the smoke that enters his body burns the back of his throat, stings all the way down. he coughs an atrocious amount and leans over as an attempt to get rid of the feeling, his eyes teary. he feels a hand repeatedly hit his back, willing the feeling away.

“that’s it, let it out,” zayn soothes.

once he feels he can breathe again, he leans upright, cleans the saliva from his lips. “thanks.” he continues inhaling and exhaling.

“it’s always like that the first time,” zayn says, and liam doesn’t want to sound crazy but he swears zayn wasn’t sitting so close to him before.

“yeah?” liam asks, “or are you just saying that to make me feel better?” blunt still in hand, he puts his arm in front of his face, ashamed. “that was embarrassing.”

zayn rests a hand over liam’s arm, tugs at it playfully. “don’t worry about it.” liam looks up to see zayn smiling, his mouth twisted lightheartedly. “for a first-timer, you did great. here, let me show you again—“

and zayn spends what must be ten minutes explaining breathing techniques—how to inhale and exhale when your lungs are being efficiently suffocated, how to hold it long enough for an effect to take place—and liam gets lost in the way zayn looks when he breathes the pot in, his features calmer, smoother, less intimidating. when zayn hands him the blunt again he inhales and finds that the feeling is a little more bearable, and even more bearable the third and fourth times. when zayn takes it back from him, he’s smiling, and liam knows he’s done something right. he feels the particles in the air separate themselves and then reattach, like chromosomes or something (have i ever taken biology?) he absentmindedly waves a hand in front of his face to find that he can’t see from the corners of his eyes. weird.

all he wants to do is touch zayn’s skin, feel it on his own.

“i never told you my name,” liam says abruptly, and this revelation daunts on him a bit too late, he’s afraid.

zayn takes another drag, his eyes closed. he shrugs, leaning fully against the couch. “doesn’t matter. i already know it.”

“what?”

zayn looks him in the eyes, exhales. he’s smiling again. “we may have never talked before, but that doesn’t mean i haven’t noticed you.”

(where is my heartbeat and do i have a pulse)

“i—when? when have you ever noticed me?” liam can’t mask the confusion in his voice. he doesn’t want to seem desperate for answers but, well, some things you can’t control.

zayn looks away from him now, his gaze concentrated on the ceiling. “it’s kind of hard not to notice when someone’s eye-fucking you 24/7.”

redness creeps into liam’s veins, flushes deep through his cheeks. he buries his face in his hands, mutters, “oh god.” he wants to crawl into his skin and never come out.

zayn laughs, the sound of bells ringing. he nudges liam in the ribs. “c’mon, it’s all right,” and when liam doesn’t budge he continues, “don’t be embarrassed. it’s kinda cute.”

and though liam feels he should be thrilled that zayn was ever aware of his existence prior to this point, he can’t help but feel self-conscious. and what does liam do when he feels vulnerable?

he runs away.

“i should go,” he mutters quickly, and gets up to leave—

but not before zayn’s hand grabs on to his own.

“wait,” he says, “what’s the matter? i thought we were having fun.”

liam presses his free hand to the back of his neck. he can’t bear to look at zayn directly. “we were—i mean i was—am—but—“

“stop making excuses,” zayn says, and he stands to match liam, who notices he’s but an inch taller than zayn. the thought makes him smile inwardly. “i know you’ve wanted some form of this to happen for some time now. maybe not this exact scenario, i’ll admit, but i can guess from the way you’ve been looking at me that you don’t mind being here with me right now.”

liam can’t look at zayn.

“so. are you going to get high with me or not?”

and when liam doesn’t answer and only stands there hesitantly, his eyes wandering around the room still trying to gain back his peripheral vision, zayn picks the blunt up off the rickety table and brings himself closer, grabs the hand resting at liam’s neck, and locks their fingers together. he takes a long, deep drag, allows the fumes to consume him, and then slowlyslowlyslowly blows them in liam’s direction. at first liam steps back, flinches as a small amount gets blown into his eyes making them tear slightly. but the hand holding on to his own squeezes his palm, urges him to give it another try.

so the next time zayn exhales, liam’s lips are already parted and he allows the smoke to collide into his mouth and down to his lungs without complaint, his mouth opening wider as the fumes continue. liam can feel zayn staring at his eyelids, but he’s never been one for much confidence, and he can’t bring himself to gaze back.

“do you want to kiss me, liam?” zayn whispers, and his breath smells of flowers and herbs and tobacco. liam’s head is spinning.

sometimes, behavior is not pushed by a need, but pulled by a desire. sometimes, you do things just for the hell of it. because, well, you’re sick of being a heap of boring and dullness and monotony and doing things oh so properly and having to explain yourself and—

you just fucking want to.

liam presses forward, his lips meeting zayn’s somewhere in the middle. it’s mouth on mouth and hand on back and limb entangled with limb as zayn pushes liam up against the wall, their lips never separating. liam’s hands are eager to explore every inch of zayn’s body, his fingers clumsily easing their way onto his hips, his back, his stomach. a moan escapes his mouth without permission, and he turns scarlet when he realizes.

“don’t,” zayn murmurs, his lips still attached to liam’s neck, “it’s cute.” he kisses liam’s collarbones, his hands now on either side of liam’s head.

they’re still backed up against the wall, and when zayn tugs at the fabric of liam’s jeans, liam unbuttons and slips them off in under what must be two seconds. zayn laughs lightly, removing his jacket and tossing it on the floor to reveal a plain white t-shirt. the scent of him is stronger now, cinnamon and citrus and tobacco still lingering on his skin.

their kissing becomes more intense, their tongues feeling each other for good measure. zayn bites on liam’s lower lip with his teeth, at first gently but then hard, and liam gasps at the mix of pain and pleasure. he tugs at the bottom of zayn’s shirt with one hand and places the other on zayn’s stomach, at which zayn lets out a grunt. he discards it carelessly, and liam takes a moment to revel in zayn’s beauty, get a closer look at his tattoos. while trying to decipher the language they’re in, zayn scowls in disapproval and grabs liam’s chin, kissing him firmly. liam’s hands reach up to hold on to zayn’s wrist; he pulls it downward, rests it on his hip. liam pulls his shirt over his head, left in nothing but his underwear.

zayn looks him up and down, and doesn’t try to hide it. the way he licks his lips as he does so makes liam’s palms sweat.

after taking in the sight of him almost completely naked, zayn prods the elastic of liam’s boxers, and seconds later, his hand is cupping liam’s dick. liam gasps at the abrupt movement, but there are no complaints as zayn draws his fingers down the length of his shaft, slowly—almost too slowly. it’s only when liam looks directly at zayn that he realizes he’s teasing him.

“aw, c’mon,” liam says, “don’t do that.” he bites his lip as zayn continues, his hand reaching the base of liam’s shaft and this time moving upward.

“do what?” zayn breathes onto liam’s check, and suckles at the skin there, leaving a raspberry-colored bruise. when zayn reaches the top of liam’s cock, he squeezes, the motion slow and exhausting, and that is just crossing the line of cruelty. pre-cum fills zayn’s hand, and he smears it onto liam’s length, as much as it’ll cover. it’s easier now when zayn rubs his hand against him, back and forth, smoother. his moans become hitched, and he feels it. he feels it.

“i’m… i’m gonna…”

“good,” zayn replies.

“no but, you—“

“we can worry about me later, liam.”

“no,” liam manages to get out in between unstable breathing, and breaks away from zayn’s working hand (it takes a strong mind to do so), pulling down the clothes below zayn’s waist until they hit the carpet.

“really, it’s okay,” zayn says, unaffected, “i kind of like watching you get all hot and bothered because of me.”

liam blushes. “i want to. i mean, i want to do this for you, too.” and the second his fingers brush against zayn’s dick, he can’t deny that the face zayn pulls does it for him, makes him eager to continue. he plays with the head of zayn’s cock, rubbing it until pre-ejaculate bursts out the tip. zayn lets out an “ah” and holds onto liam’s shoulder to stop himself from swaying too much. he closes his eyes as liam’s hand encircles around his dick completely, moving up and down, head to base, again and again. after a few more moans, he continues with liam where he left off, and they both grunt and whimper at the touches and sensations that overcome them.

“it’s… i’m…”

“me too,” zayn breathes, “i’m close.”

“i c-can’t—“ and liam comes with zayn’s name on his tongue, fluid covering zayn’s stomach.

zayn comes seconds later, and when they finish, both breathing heavily pressed up against the wall and eventually collapsing on the floor, they make eye contact and laugh lightheartedly, both covered in the other’s cum. liam’s body aches all over, and though he should feel strange being naked on a floor of a stranger’s basement, he doesn’t.

he glances down at himself, scratches his head. “we’ve um… we’ve caused a bit of mess.”

“that we have,” zayn says, and from the way he rubs his shoulders liam can guess that he’s tired, too.

they lie in silence for a few long moments, neither of them really having to say anything. liam takes in the fact that he’s just lost a part of his virginity, and to zayn of all people. he can’t help but at the thought.

he turns to zayn whose eyes are closed, lying peacefully and looking striking in his calm demeanor.

“thanks,” he says.

zayn eyes him carefully, raises an eyebrow. “sex was that good, was it?”

liam chuckles, “yeah. it was.”

the corners of zayn’s lips rise into a U. “i like it when you smile. your eyes crinkle up in an almost… adorable sort of way.” he wrinkles his nose and laughs. “ah, sorry. didn’t mean to be cheesy.”

“you’re not,” liam says, “thank you though.”

“’s’no problem.”

and liam wonders how they’re going to clean themselves up and what he’s going to say to louis and god what if he runs into him on the way out and how will he explain himself. his vision is slightly blurry and when he closes his eyes for too long and then opens them he feels dizzy but other than that he’s never felt so satisfied.

after a few more minutes of comfortable silence, zayn gets up and slips his boxers on.

“there’s a bathroom in there,” zayn says, and nods towards the door on liam’s right. liam had noticed it while they were getting high but just assumed it was a closet. zayn reaches a hand down and liam takes it, standing upright. zayn hands liam his underwear. “why don’t you go get cleaned up,” he suggests.

liam slips them on and concentrates on the floor. “will you still be here?” he asks, and though he wills his nerves to calm, they don’t listen.

zayn sits on the couch, and after lighting a cigarette and taking a drag (looking at liam as he exhales), answers, “yeah, if you want.” he seems awfully calm and collected after just having sex but liam knows he shouldn’t be surprised. it isn’t the first time zayn has done this, and he’s not stupid to the point of denying it.

he stares at his reflection a bit longer than he should, and wonders when it was that his face began to glow.

when he’s finished cleaning himself, he walks out to find that he’s alone, the room empty save for the blunt on the table. his thoughts are dizzy—he said he would stay—but doesn’t allow himself to ponder it. except he can’t help but think about it. he puts on the remainder of his clothes, eager to leave, and never be so stupid as to fall into zayn’s trap again; to come to these stupid parties and get high and feel like something could come out of this. there’s a strong burning sensation in his chest, and if he were feeling like a big stupid cliché, he’d say it was his heart sinking.

making his way up the basement stairs, the only thing on his mind is getting out. leaving this party and never looking back. pretending that the past two hours didn’t happen. he tries to hide the disappointment on his face but knows he’s failing. he’s never been good at hiding his feelings. he stares at the ground as he makes his way through the crowded hallway thinking, none of these people know what happened just now. and none of them are as stupid as me.

he wonders how many people in this room zayn’s manipulated. the thought leaves a pang in his chest.

“liam. liam!” he hears, but pretends not to hear it.

“liam,” the voice yells, and soon enough louis is pulling at his arm. “you leaving?” when liam looks at him, his eyes rimmed red, louis’ face falls. “you okay, mate? what happened?”

but liam yanks out of louis’ grip and is out the door before he can answer.

///

(saturday)

there’s an annoying thumpthumpthump whooshing in liam’s head when he wakes up. he presses a hand to his temple, eyes squeezed tight.

all at once the events from the night before outline his vision, and he shuts his eyes tighter, subliminally willing them away, but to no avail.

when he checks his phone to see six missed calls from louis and two from niall, he ignores it and goes back to sleep.

///

(sunday)

there’s a furious pounding on his bedroom door.

“liam! let us in,” a voice orders. louis. of course. and he brought niall.

liam groans. he’d only gotten out of bed the day before to eat and take a piss, and even that didn’t take long. most of the day was spent in his bed.

he gets up, stretching the misaligned bones in his back, several cracks putting them back in place. the lock is barely undone when louis comes strutting in, niall following suit thereafter—albeit, less colourfully. niall’d always been a shadow in louis’ sunlight, what with his laidback attitude and calm demeanor. where louis yelled, niall spoke. where louis was colour, niall was black and white. and where louis was outrageous laughter, niall was a small smile. liam was thankful he had one friend who wasn’t completely mental.

“so,” louis says assertively, plopping himself in a chair, a paper bag in hand, “what the hell have you been doing exactly? don’t tell me you lost your mobile and didn’t receive my calls.” he eyes the cellular on liam’s nightstand, his eyes narrowing. “just as i thought. so, what happened?” as he interrogates, he removes chips from the bag and starts munching.

liam rubs his face and watches as niall sits on the opposite side of the bed; he joins him. “nothing,” he says, “can we please just forget about it?”

“like shit we can!” louis exclaims. “you were not okay, mate, i could see it.”

“i’m kind of lost here,” niall says, kicking off his shoes and stretching his legs the length of the bed. “for my sake, liam, could you maybe give us a bit of something to work with? louis hasn’t shut up in over twenty-four hours and i’m about done listening to his shit.” he looks over to lou. “oi, give me some, will you?”

liam sits himself on the bed next to niall, overtired. “really, it was nothing,” he says, “just didn’t have fun at the party, that’s all.”

“bullshit,” says louis. “i don’t know what you have to hide, liam. we’re your best mates, we’re concerned for you. in the good-natured sort of way. we want to help.”

“well, you can’t,” says liam. “there’s nothing anyone can do, so really, this conversation is pointless.”

louis looks down at his bag, looks back up at liam. “bet you’re hungry,” he says, “aren’t you?”

as if on cue, liam’s stomach growls. “no,” he refutes.

louis rolls his chair to where liam is sitting on the bed, waves the bag in front of his face, the sweet smell of fried potatoes filling his nose. “bet you’re just dying to have some,” he says, and as liam reaches his hand out to grab some, louis moves back, teasing. “nah-ah-ah, not until you spill.”

“ugh,” liam groans, “it’s not a big deal. i just—i met someone. at the party.”

louis’ brows arch. “someone? someone as in who?”

“i dunno. just someone.”

“liam,” louis says, his voice trying to be threatening but coming out squeaky instead, “stop beating around the bush. or no chips for you.”

niall leans over, puts a reassuring hand on liam’s shoulder. “it’s all right,” he says, “you don’t actually have to tell us. if you don’t want. just eh,” and he leans closer hurriedly, whispers, “make something up if you have to.”

“ay, ay! no secret-sharing like a couple of girls!” and liam and niall can’t help but laugh at the comment, the irony in it.

“all right, fine,” says liam, “i sort of… got high last night.”

louis studies him for a second, then shrugs. “all right.”

“—for the first time.”

“i suspected.”

“—with zayn malik.”

chips fly out of louis’ mouth and across the room, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “you—what?”

“jesus, lou. clean that up.”

“wait, repeat,” louis demands, impatient.

“it’s not a big deal,” liam says, “it just sort of happened.”

louis shakes his head. “who would’ve thought. your first time at a real high school party and you get high as balls, with zayn of all people. only you, liam.”

“well… we didn’t… we didn’t just get high.” he can feel a blush creeping up his neck and tries to ignore it. he picks at the loose threading on his duvet.

“liam…” louis starts, and niall straightens up, suddenly very interested.

“we sort of… well we… we—“

“you didn’t,” and liam doesn’t have to say anything because—“oh my god jesus fucking christ on a stick liam you did not.”

liam sucks it air, holds it. “we did.”

it takes a couple prolonged moments, but finally louis exhales incredulously; niall smiles, nods his head.

“about time you got laid,” he says, his blonde hair matted under his snap back. he pats liam bare on the back, a bit too harshly though, and it stings.

“but—can we—did you—are we just—“

“yes louis, it happened. now can we forget it and move on with our mundane lives?”

“no, we cannot,” and he leans forward, chips forgotten. “what exactly happened? how did it happen? who initiated contact?”

“jesus,” liam breathes, “i did. well, sort of. he leaned into me, but i’m the one that kissed him. after we got high, of course.”

louis stares liam in the eyes intently, then unexpectedly bursts out giggling. “this would happen to you.” liam rolls his eyes, stares at the wall. “so, what next? prom king and king? movie and dinner dates? honeymoon?”

liam scratches his forehead, his heart burning. “no. not at all.”

louis’ face falls. “why not? if you like him…”

liam closes his eyes and leans against the headboard. “i did. still do, unfortunately. but it’ll go away with time i suppose.”

“what happened?”

“i dunno. i thought we were good.” he scrunches his nose in distaste. “but he doesn’t seem to be too interested.”

“what are you saying?” niall asks. “has he not called you or something?”

“it’s not like he has my number, but even if he did, he wouldn’t i’m sure. bottom line: he’s not interested. and that’s about it.”

when they both nod and cease the discussion, liam feels slightly better.

but only slightly.

///

(monday)

liam walks the halls as if in a permanent state of exhaustion, his bag weighing him down by a thousand pounds, his feet dragging, his mind a big blob of why does my life suck so much and why did this have to happen to me. humiliated is an understatement.

and really, he could tell niall and louis. he could tell them that zayn left without a word after he said he wouldn’t and how it made him feel and how he’d never felt so embarrassed in his life, but what would that do except intensify those negative feelings?

maybe he was overreacting about the whole thing. after all, it wasn’t like they were anything more than acquaintances, and even calling it that was pushing it. but you don’t just get high with someone, have sex, and then pretend nothing happened. or maybe you do.

he didn’t know how any of this worked, but he was smart enough to know he got screwed over.

he sees louis during passing period and tells him he’ll see him later as he has to be somewhere. something about “meeting up with curly to discuss yearbook.” liam shrugs. louis would never be in the position liam’s in, the lucky bastard.

sitting in class, liam has the sudden urge to vomit, and asks to be excused. once in the bathroom he splashes cold water on his face, lets it seep into his pores. his reflection in the mirror is much different from the one he saw at the party. less bright, less colourful.

he hears the door open but doesn’t pay much attention to it. he wastes time washing his hands with soap.

“hey,” zayn says, and stands next to him at the sink. “i’ve been looking for you all day. you’re pretty good at hiding.” when liam doesn’t respond, his smile falters. “you all right?”

liam scoffs in disbelief. “oh yeah. i’m great.”

he brushes past zayn, bumping his shoulder faintly on the way, and grabs paper towels to dry his hands and face.

“what’s the matter?” zayn asks, and it stings in the pit of liam’s stomach to think that he can pretend to be so genuinely clueless.

“nothing,” says liam, “nothing at all.” he refuses to look at zayn, and he’s pretty sure even if he tried, he would fail. he heads for the door, but zayn stands in front of it, blocking him.

“hold on. you’re angry with me. why?” he crosses his arms. “have i done something?”

liam huffs, “it’s nothing really. just…”

“what? liam, look at me.” zayn reaches for liam’s chin, wants to lift it up, but liam jerks away.

for the first time, liam looks him in the face. “was i just a casual fuck?”

the way zayn laughs in response leaves an aching in his chest. “what?” zayn’s bouts of laughter don’t stop—or rather, he can’t make them. liam tries making his way past him, but again isn’t permitted. “hold on,” zayn says, “you’re serious? wh—“

“i should’ve known,” and the tone of liam’s voice is cold, as cold as he’s ever allowed it, and he could swear he senses the shivers running down zayn’s spine. “it’s no surprise, really, that zayn malik would screw me over.” he laughs to himself bitterly. “not the first time you’ve done it, is it?”

zayn’s lips flatten into a thin line, all traces of amusement gone. he stares at liam as if searching for something, then moves to the side, eyes serious. “right.” he nods toward the door. “go on, then.”

liam leaves without looking back.

///

(tuesday)

liam does what he can to avoid seeing zayn at all costs, but it isn’t easy when he’s friends with everyone and his classes are next to liam’s and the world conspires against him.

he sits in class during third period and, through the glass of the door, sees zayn walk back and forth a few times; contemplative, it seems.

he finds it strange; zayn has class on the other end of the building.

///

(wednesday)

“so what’s the deal with zayn then?” louis asks as he takes a swig of his vitamin water, him, niall, and liam perched against a tree for lunch break.

“i thought this conversation was over.” and when louis shrugs, liam continues, “there never was a deal, guys. we aren’t anything. it was meaningless.” he bites his tongue, wishes the words he’s speaking weren’t true. but wishing is never enough.

“so that’s it then? a little one-night-stand? are you sure?”

“yep.” and that concludes the topic.

///

the school day is almost over. liam walks to his locker to retrieve his books, his eyes concentrated on the floor tiles, counting 1, 2, 3, when he accidentally bumps into someone—their stuff crashes to the ground with a loud thud.

“oi—sorry,” liam mutters. he looks up to see the curly-haired boy in front of him, cheeks red hot, flustered.

“’s’okay,” he says, and drops to his knees to pick up his things. liam does the same, collecting pencils and papers and handing them to him.

“thanks,” the boys says, a small smile curving his lips. “oh, you. louis’ friend.”

liam smiles courteously. “that would be me.”

the boy sticks his hand out in front of him. “i’m harry.”

liam takes it and can’t help but feel the sweat on his palms. “nice to meet you.” he readjusts the strap of his bag, trying inconspicuously to rub the moisture off. “so, you’ve been hanging out with lou lately, have you?”

“oh—um,” harry stutters, “yeah. hanging out, yeah,” and he can’t seem to form coherent sentences.

liam’s eyes narrow. “right. well. i should get going. nice meeting you, harry,” and he makes his way towards the swinging doors that lead to the parking lot.

“wait,” harrys says, and liam turns around to see harry jogging towards him. “i—okay, i probably shouldn’t be telling you this. no, i know i shouldn’t be telling you this, as it’s none of my business and all but—you’re a friend of louis’.” he shrugs. “i feel obligated.”

“tell me what?”

harry messes with the objects in his hands, hesitant. “it’s just, i was walking to my locker earlier, and i heard them talking about you. i tried not to listen, honest, but it’s kind of hard when they’re so loud.”

“who?”

“zayn’s friends—sorry. probably should’ve mentioned that first.”

“wait. his friends were talking… about me?” he utters the last word incredulously.

harry shrugs, his knobby shoulders poking like rounded hills through his t-shirt. “they were teasing him, actually. said something about having a bit of a ‘crush’ if i’m not mistaken. your name was mentioned somewhere in-between. i won’t say where exactly.” he smiles, a dimple poking out of his left cheek.

liam laughs nervously and tries shaking it off, failing miserably. “i’m sure you heard wrong. we’re not—“

“bottom line is, you’re not supposed to know. but like i said, a friend of lou’s is a friend of mine.” it takes liam back the way harry nonchalantly refers to his best friend as ‘lou.’ only he and niall did that. or so he thought.

“is that all? i mean, did anything else happen?” liam asks, the desperation in his voice tangible. he rubs his fingers together anxiously.

“erm, not much, honestly. just, they were gathered by my locker, like i said, when one of them mentioned you—your last name’s payne right?—and zayn shoved him in the shoulder. a bit hard i think—the guy was moaning in pain afterward.”

liam frowns, stares at his feet. “that doesn’t sound too good.”

harry scoffs. “you don’t have much confidence, do you? –sorry. didn’t mean to sound like an arse. but yeah. anyway. zayn was smiling afterward. looked like a bit of an idiot if i say so myself.” he shrugs again. “said something about you leaving?” he glances down at his wristwatch, his eyebrows knitting together in a panic. “ah, sorry but i gotta go. i’ll talk to you later?”

harry makes his way down the hall going the opposite direction, still sweaty and slightly out of breath.

liam laughs when louis comes out of the bathroom moments later, trying to hide the fact that he’s out of breath.

///

(thursday)

it’s storming out. the thunder and lightning and rain comfort liam in the oddest way, and when he wakes up surrounded by the sharp noise it makes, by the darkness it creates, he smiles. sometimes the sun is too harsh.

the hallway floors of college are soaked in dirt and water, the ends of trousers filthy, the bottoms of shoes muddy. they leave trails everywhere.

he hasn’t been able to get what harry said out of his mind since the moment he was told. as much as he tried to calm his thoughts they wouldn’t leave him alone, gnawing at his skin until bone was visible—or so it felt like.

what could zayn have been talking about? why was he even talking about liam—to his friends of all people? the term “friends” could be taken lightly, of course; zayn was friends with almost everyone. and it just didn’t make sense that he would mention liam in conversation to anyone.

unless he was making fun of him.

liam attempts to push these thoughts aside, focus on the task at hand. macbeth. right.   
who was he again?

///

over and over and over again liam shouts “no, no, no” at his brain, the whirring and buzzing and rattling too much for this time of day.

lunch is barely over when liam decides he simply can’t do nothing. he has to talk to zayn, get some kind of explanation out of him, try to understand, or it’ll eat away at him for the rest of time.

if there was anything he hated, it was uncertainty.

///

the first time liam sees him that day, zayn is walking out the college doors. he takes off his leather jacket and holds it above his head before running out into the pouring rain, its droplets big and heavy.

liam goes after him, a bit hesitant, but shakes off the nerves and continues forward. it’s difficult seeing two feet in front of him. from inside the building the storm didn’t seem this severe, but before he can turn back, he’s already fifteen strides out the door calling zayn’s name.

“zayn,” he shouts, “zayn!” but the rain overpowers his voice.

zayn turns a corner, and it dawns on liam that he has no idea where zayn lives. what if it’s miles away? what will he do then? how will he get home? but there are more pressing issues at the forefront of his mind.

they’re on a sidewalk, the vibrations of thunder filling their ears every other minute. liam jogs up to him, puts a hand on his shoulder. “zayn.”

he turns wearily, and when he sees it’s liam there, pulls a confused face. “liam—what are you doing here?”

“i wanted to talk to you,” and liam isn’t sure if zayn can hear him but he says it anyway.

zayn stares at him for a few prolonged moments under the protection of his jacket, then says, “jesus, you’re soaked.” and he is. liam looks down to see his thick beige jumper turned ten shades darker, drenched beyond belief. his fringe forms a one big cluster of matted hair on his forehead, sticking to his skin like papier-mâché.

without another word, zayn continues walking forward; liam isn’t sure if he’s supposed to follow, but he does anyway. two blocks down is a black iron gate that leads to a sidewalk that leads to a house; a white house with navy blue shutters and a nicely kempt garden that lines its perimeter. the rain floods the soil while giving the flowers something to drink.

they walk up four concrete steps that lead to the front door, conveniently covered by an awning. standing underneath it, liam hugs his body, shivers attacking it one after the other. zayn fishes keys out of his pocket, unlocks the door, and walks in, leaving it open. liam happily steps in.

it’s nicely decorated, with antiques and glass fixtures lining the fireplace mantle and potted plants set in corners of different rooms. liam kicks off his trainers and follows zayn up the stairs, unsure. zayn stops at the door on the farthest end of the hall, opens it, and goes inside, setting his wet jacket on the back of a chair. “wait here,” he says, and disappears.

liam can’t stop the chattering of his teeth; he rubs his arms to heat himself up, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much.

zayn returns moments later, a towel in hand. he hands it to him. “here, dry off,” he says, and digs in his drawers, taking out a logoed long sleeve t-shirt and zip-up hoodie. liam runs the towel over his arms, through the wavy locks of his hair.

zayn hands him the clothes. “you can put these on as well.” as if to give liam space, he exits the room and goes to what liam guesses is the bathroom. it’s highly unnecessary—after all, zayn’s seen him naked—but he’s grateful nonetheless. after disrobing the upper half of his body, he slips on the shirt. it smells of tangerines. liam presses his nose to it, closes his eyes, lets the scent sink into his skin. it reminds him of the brief time they spent together only six days prior, and he sighs heavily. too good to be true.

by the time zayn comes back, liam has slipped on the hoodie as well, and is sitting on the bed, hands fastened together. zayn sits in the chair across from him, leans fully against it, and rests his head against his clasped hands. “so, what brings you here?”

liam shifts uncomfortably. “i sort of wanted to apologize.” he looks at zayn to find him staring at the wall behind liam’s head. “i didn’t mean what i said. i know you’re not like that.”

zayn scoffs, “do you?”

liam gulps. he knows he should’ve expected zayn’s bitter tone, but even so, it doesn’t hurt any less. “i guess i don’t. know you, i mean. but it was wrong of me to assume you use people. i shouldn’t have.”

zayn sucks on his lower lip, eyes wandering the room. he doesn’t say anything, and liam takes this as somewhat of a good sign. “thanks,” he says, “for letting me in and giving me these,” and he pinches the fabric of the clothes that aren’t his. he wants to curl himself in them and inhale them forever.

zayn doesn’t answer.

“about the other day,” liam continues, “i guess i should explain myself. well, the reason i was upset was because you left. i mean—i came out of the bathroom and you weren’t there and you said you would be and i didn’t know what to think and i know we’re not anything and so i came to the conclusion you left without telling me so—“

“jesus, liam, calm yourself.”

progress.

“what the fuck are you even talking about? i didn’t leave. i went upstairs for a minute to make a call. i came back down and you weren’t there, so i figured you’d changed your mind or something.” he shrugs. “if anything, i should be the one upset here. but really, it’s not a big deal. i mean, i get it, you’re not interested in me.”

at this, liam’s head snaps up, eyebrows furrowed. “wait—what? i’m not interested?”

zayn looks back at him, no traces of sarcasm found.

liam scratches his forehead, clenches his eyes shut. “what the fuck just happened to this conversation?”

“dunno,” zayn says, and it’s quiet. liam looks up to study zayn’s expression, but zayn’s gaze is stuck on the window, lost in the rain and the hail and whatever else the earth is vomiting.

“zayn,” liam murmurs, his voice barely audible. when zayn doesn’t answer, he stands next to him, blocking the view of the window. zayn acts as if he doesn’t notice. liam is hesitant, unsure; he doesn’t want to do the wrong thing but he doesn’t want to miss out on doing the right thing either. gently, he presses a calloused thumb to zayn’s jaw, the bone prominent and sharply cut. he rubs the skin there, smooth and tan, free of flaw. liam’s lips part in awe of zayn’s beauty. he wants to get lost in it and never be found.  
zayn’s eyes close for a moment, and liam sighs with relief at his acceptance.

“i’ve only ever been with one other person.” it’s just a whisper and liam doesn’t think he’s heard correctly but the look in zayn’s eyes tells him otherwise. liam’s good at masking his surprise, and he takes it as an opportunity to kiss zayn’s neck, hush him okay. he grips zayn by the waist, urges him to move with him to the bed, and zayn quietly obeys. once there, liam places a steady hand on zayn’s thigh, reassuring, kind, accepting. his lips explore the extent of zayn’s collarbones, his shoulders, his jaw. zayn’s eyes flutter closed, and liam can’t help but feel like he’s filling in the gaps, colouring outside the lines, reversing roles. he loves it.

“mmm,” liam breathes, “you smell so good.” he doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s inhaling, in and out, again and again, the scent of zayn, his very being. he thinks if zayn’s insides are anything like the outsides, he much be the most beautiful person in the world. he presses more kisses against zayn’s temple, his hairline. his hand squeezes zayn’s thigh, and zayn’s eyes flutter closed as if falling into a peaceful trance.

liam pull them both further onto the bed so their legs are sprawled against the length of it. liam’s arms encircle zayn’s shoulders, his arm serving as a pillow to zayn’s head. zayn wraps his arm around liam’s stomach, his lips pressed against liam’s cheek, soft, sweet, simple.

this is the most content i’ve ever felt, liam thinks, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

///

(friday)

a ray of sunlight peaks through the glass of liam’s window, its rays casting shadows on his face. he squints and sits up, rubs the rheum out of his eyes. he’s still wearing zayn’s clothes, the scent clinging to his body like it belongs there. he smiles far and wide.

it was around midnight when he woke up in zayn’s room, at first unsure of his surroundings. the rain had stopped, the air still and stagnant. the darkness, although indefinite, comforted him in the oddest way. he gently untangled himself from zayn’s arms which seemed to have locked themselves around liam’s torso, tiny snores emanating from zayn’s mouth as he slept. liam placed a light kiss on zayn’s head, whispered, “sleep well,” and made his way out the door.

he couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off his face if he tried.

///

walking into college never felt better. birds are chirping, sun is hovering, rainbows are forming—or perhaps liam’s just having a really good day—either way, he’s on an all-time high.

he sits next to louis and niall during second period.

“you okay, mate?” niall asks.

“yeah, fine,” liam whispers as to not disturb the teacher’s lesson. “w’d’you mean?”

“it’s just, you haven’t stopped smiling like an idiot since you walked in here. if i didn’t know any better i’d say you were having giggle fits in your sleep.”

but this only makes liam smile wider, his eyes crinkling like paper. louis rolls his eyes, a grin also plastered on his face.

“i think,” liam says, “i may have actually fixed things.”

“i’ll ask for details later.” louis pats liam on the back reassuringly. “welcome back,” he says. niall laughs softly.

///

liam is wandering the halls aimlessly when he sees him; the dark hair styled into a perfect quiff; the black leather jacket that smells of cigarettes and flowers; the smile filled with white teeth, sharp and pointy; the brown eyes shaped by laughter.

he breathes a sigh of relief, finally.

walking over, his hands shake, his heart pumps blood by the gallons, his pulse quickens. when zayn notices him, he feels he might evaporate from the intensity.

“and you say i’m one for leaving,” zayn says, but there’s a smile on his face that brightens the atmosphere and it has liam’s insides stirring. liam smiles back, tries to press his lips together, but it’s too wide; his teeth show.

zayn looks at him a moment longer than necessary before he distracts himself, grabbing books from his bag and heading further down the hall, his eyes signaling for liam to follow. which he does.

“sorry about that,” liam says, “thought you’d sleep better without two people taking up space in your bed.”

“or maybe not,” zayn counters, the corners of his lips tugging upward. he stops in front of the water fountain, turns to look at liam. “thanks, by the way.”

liam grips the shoulder strap of his bag, cocks an eyebrow. “for?”

zayn shrugs. “apologizing, i guess. not many people do.”

“well it was my fault. i shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions when—“

“let’s not make this into a self-blaming party,” zayn interrupts. “you apologized. it was nice. end of story.” zayn grabs liam by the hand and pulls him close, his lips tracing every inch of liam’s mouth before settling there with permanent intentions. liam sighs into the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed.

“w-wait,” he says, lips still attached, “someone might see us.”

“who cares,” zayn comments, and moves his hand to the small of liam’s back, rubbing it up and down. “or…” and he pulls liam into the lavatory, using his back to open the door and walking backwards until they’re against a wall. “just like last time,” he breathes, and leans into liam completely, his tongue gliding against liam’s lower lip. liam opens his mouth, allows zayn to explore the depths of it, their noses bumping a couple times.

liam laughs nervously. “i want to. but i have,” he looks at his wristwatch, “exactly six minutes ‘til i have to be in class.”

zayn leans his head against the tiled wall, sighs. “bummer,” he says. “your loss.”

liam pouts, his lips sticking out childishly. “mean.”

zayn laughs, pulls him in once more. “six minutes, you said?”

///

“there he goes again,” says niall, shoving a slice of apple pie in his mouth, “smiling like an idiot.”

liam looks to the ground, blushes. “sorry. can’t help it.”

“leave him alone, guys.” harry sits next to louis, their elbows touching. even sitting down, harry has a good four inches on louis, his shoulders broader, torso longer. it didn’t surprise either liam nor niall when louis mentioned that, “harry’ll be joining us for a spot of lunch today. all right lads?”

“ah, young love,” niall muses. “seems liam’s not the only one catching a taste these days.”

louis turns scarlet, tries to laugh it off like it’s nothing, but fails when he squeaks nervously. “anyway, what’s the deal with you and the chain-smoker? obviously things are good between you now, but you never explained how that happened. give me details.”

liam looks at harry, smiles when their eyes meet. “it was uh… well i had help from a friend.”

louis squints. “a friend? and who might that be?” when liam shrugs, “doesn’t matter,” louis rolls his eyes, says, “all right, fine. don’t tell me. but still—what happened?”

“i just apologized.”

louis chokes on his soda. “what for?” he wipes the droplets off his chin with the back of his hand. “you did nothing wrong. honestly, you’re a pushover.”

“but i was wrong,” says liam. “i kind of called him a manslut.”

niall, louis, and harry all burst with laughter.

“a manslut? oh liam,” louis sighs, putting a hand on harry’s shoulder to concentrate. “that’s a good insult if i ever heard one.”

“it’s not like i used those exact words—shut up, all of you,” liam insists, but when they ignore him, he joins in.

“why do i even bother with you people.”

///

zayn is smoking a cigarette when school is finally over. the day has dragged since their tongues collided earlier, and liam has been anticipating this for hours now. he watches him carefully; the way he grips the lighter, puts the tip of the cigarette on fire; the way his index and middle fingers clasp it gently; the way his lips enclose on the edge, his ribs expanding with every inhalation. if they weren’t in public liam would jump on him.

“hey,” he mutters, butterflies in his stomach.

zayn turns his head to face him, expression unchanged. he takes another gulp of tobacco, eyes boring into liam’s, and exhales into liam’s face, but he’s prepared this time; he parts his lips, giving the smoke a gateway to his lungs. he holds it there, lets it grow accustomed to his untainted body, then breathes out sputters of tiny separated clouds.

zayn takes one more drag before throwing the cigarette to the ground, stomping out the spark. he takes liam’s hand. “ready?”

and a thousand corny thoughts pop into liam’s head; a thousand stupid things he could say that would make zayn laugh or cringe or do both, but he restrains himself and nods instead.

when they turn the same corner as the day before, liam knows they’re headed for zayn’s house again. it makes him feel good, the fact that zayn wants him over, wants him to invade his personal space.

they don’t speak the entire way there, the light touches of skin against skin taking up the empty space that words themselves cannot fill. hand in hand, they make their way to zayn’s front steps, the threshold, the hallway stairs, the bedroom. zayn leads him to the bench next to the windowsill, his hands forming manacles around liam’s torso, his chin resting on liam’s shoulder. liam can feel him looking at him, studying him.

“why do you like me?” liam’s voice is feeble, so much so he’s afraid it might break.

liam feels the grip on his stomach tighten, and his insides tighten with it. “why wouldn’t i?”

“it just doesn’t make sense to me, that’s all.” liam tries to make it seem like the answer doesn’t mean as much to him as it does, doesn’t want to make any of it a big deal.

“you genuinely think that? that i wouldn’t be attracted to you?”

“i don’t mean just physically.” liam shrugs. “like—my personality i guess. me. just me.”

zayn straightens up, his arms no longer around liam. holding liam’s chin he forces liam to look at him, his expression somber, sincere. he rubs his lips against liam’s jaw, back and forth. “nothing i don’t like about you so far,” he whispers. his lips leave trails on the side of liam’s neck right underneath his ear. “your neck, for instance.” liam’s eyes close without permission, his back leaning against the windowsill, the heat of the sun boring into his back. “it holds up a pretty good head, i think.”

“your shoulders.” zayn’s kisses move to them, tracing the outline of the bone there, “which slump when you’re tired, because you’d rather your friends win an argument than get in a fight.” liam wonders when zayn ever noticed this; he’s taken zayn’s confessions of watching him a bit too lightly, he realizes.

“your eyes,” and zayn places a kiss in the spot where the skin creases when liam smiles, “the most beautiful chocolate brown i’ve ever seen. also, i might add, the windows into your soul.”

liam snickers, “please. that’s gotta be the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said. i should record this moment.” zayn smiles, the gesture reaching his eyes.

“well, i have been known to be quite the sap. you should get used to it.” at the implication that zayn wants more of him, the butterflies in liam’s stomach awaken once again.

“have i mentioned your lips?” and in a split second his mouth is on liam’s, searching, exploring. his lips are hungry, the way they beg for liam to let him in, give him more. and liam allows it. it’s different from the first time they kissed, when the atmosphere was black and unknown, both of them nameless figures in the dark. no, this time, it’s real, their touches simple but complicated, definite but unsure. they know the one thing it’s not is shy.

zayn cups liam’s face, brushes his hair to the side. as he kisses liam, his fingers rub against liam’s jaw gently, carefully. the way liam grips zayn’s arms for support encourages him to move forward, continue whatever it is they’re doing.

but zayn stops. he breaks the kiss, both hands still holding liam’s face. his eyes are a shade of worry liam cannot decipher.

“i don’t want to break you,” he breathes, his voice heavy. he rubs his forehead as if exhausted.

liam lifts zayn’s chin, gets lost in his eyes, the dark, long eyelashes that protect them. “try me.”

zayn smiles, his teeth gleaming. he muses, “but god, liam, i really do like you—“

“just kiss me.” and liam’s lips feel at home on zayn’s.


End file.
